Join Our Fight for the Truth
by Otter-and-Ocelot
Summary: John Watson joins the Believe In Sherlock Project, a group of people fighting for his lost friend's memory and name. He's not aware that someone he knows quite well is already a key member of the Project. An old enemy soon takes note of the Project as well, then decides to take action against it. Kind of slow updates. Weird idea by Otter. T for language. Tons of OCs. No pairings.
1. When John Found the Project

-**John-**

I'd stopped reading the papers after...Well, after. I just couldn't see a point in it, really. Strange strings of murders with nobody to solve them, thefts with no one brought to justice, an endless game of connect the dots, but without..._him _the points would never form a picture. Newspapers didn't matter much anymore. Headlines were meaningless. So I stopped reading.

Until Greg called me this morning.

_"John, did you see the paper? Can you believe it?"_

_"No, I didn't see anything. What's so important that you're calling me about a news story?"_

_"Get today's paper! It's on the front page, you have to see it!"_

_"Alright, I'll call later."_

And now, I stood staring at the front page. The headline wasn't at all what I was expecting. I, of course, thought it would be about a football match, or politics. Whatever I thought the words would say, it certainly wasn't what I saw.

"BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK PROJECT" CAUSES UPHEAVAL IN PARK

Beneath the words was a somewhat blurry photo of what looked like an outdoor concert. A makeshift stage seemed to have been built on a large field, with a crowd standing around it. On the stage there was forty or fifty people, all wearing one article of yellow clothing, whether it was trousers or gloves or a scarf. Strangely enough, they each wore a Venetian-looking mask as well. One woman in the front looked to be speaking into a megaphone. The picture was too fuzzy to discern much, but she was clearly a bit shorter than most of the others, and had bright red hair. Hanging above the entire scene was a banner that read, in bold yellow writing, "BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES."

The article told of how this "rowdy" group had somehow brought the entire stage onto the park grounds in the night without being noticed, and had swept onto the field later in the morning, all sporting their message: "Believe in Sherlock." The woman with the megaphone seemed to run the show, and within minutes their activity had drawn a crowd.

I couldn't believe it. I knew there were people out there who still believed in him, but I had never thought they would go any farther then the occasional graffiti. This was...amazing. This was people banding together to restore a good man's name. This was people putting effort into spreading the truth. And I was only now finding out about it.

Thus began my adventure in trying to find out how to join in on the Believe In Sherlock Project.

I turned to the Internet for answers. I soon learned that while they appeared quite often, nobody ever knew a thing about it until it happened, and this was the biggest rise the Project had ever gotten. Any pictures that people had managed to snap showed all the people of the Project, popularly called "She," wearing those same masks and yellow garments. The masks, of course, raised a problem in finding a Sherlockian to get into the project through.

Soon, I began seeing a rise in the graffiti. There were posters appearing everywhere. Every place you looked, you saw a message from the Project. Whether it was "Don't believe the paper lies. Join our fight for the truth. Believe in Sherlock Holmes," or a simple "Moriarty Is Real", you could tell the Sherlockian had been hard at work.

I still tried everything to find a way in. I could never find an identification on anyone in the Project. I asked Greg to keep a look out for news of them, but they were invisible except for their messages. I didn't know how anyone was meant to help the Project if they couldn't find them.

I was to find out later how the Project grew. I would know the name, face, and mask of each and every Sherlockian. I was to become one of their key members, and know all their plans, and help to make some myself. I was going to join the Project quite soon. But mine was not going to be a normal recruitment.


	2. When the Project Found John

**-Talia—**

The rally went better than expected. I'd always hoped we'd get a rise that big, but that day was the first time it had actually happened. I suppose, if I were being optimistic, I'd say that signaled the true beginning of the Believe in Sherlock Project.

When I started it with Rainne, I had just a few friends gathered up. I never expected it to grow as big as it did. By that most recent rally, we had over a hundred members. Over a hundred people who had gathered to fight for what they believed in. The Project was getting stronger every minute, and I could feel something really big coming now.

I was on my way to tell the others, the ones who didn't go to the rally, what happened in the park when I was stopped by James, one of the higher-up members of the team.

"Talia!" he called. "I hear this morning went well."

"You hear right. Gathered a much bigger crowd than usual. I think we may need someone to bring in some recruits soon," I replied, grinning. I knew exactly what James would say.

"I volunteer!" he quickly responded. "I love new recruits; they're always either really excited or really confused."

I sighed. It was hardly my fault that we were never what the recruits seemed to be expecting.

They always seemed surprised when the people who found them brought them into the hotel we'd transformed into our…base, of sorts. We had rooms full of computers and robotic constructions where our more tech-savvy people spent most of their time. There was a library, and bedrooms for people who decided to leave their homes and live with the Project. (That was also shocking to new people—even after we explained to them that the lives of such people remain the same, with the exception of having a busier household.)We had anything we would need here—so it always irked me a bit when recruits expected us to have covert meet-ups under bridges or whatever other notions they had in mind.

I made my way to what we had designated as the conference room. Most of the people who hadn't attended the rally were there. Their gazes snapped to me when I entered.

"Guys, it's not like I crashed through the ceiling in my spaceship. Quit looking at me like that,"

A couple of them rolled their eyes. Emma, a skinny, blond tech whiz, asked how things went.

"Well, we managed to attract a big crowd. Most were cheering, few were jeering. Gave a big speech about all the proof we have that Sherlock was for real. Tossed some flyers around. It looks like a few more people may want to join. We'll need to send out some sleuths to find the new kids."

The group let out hoots of approval. I grinned, and signaled for them to quiet down. I loved it when they got excited about new people joining the cause. It let me know that they wanted people to believe just as much as I did.

"James volunteered to go on a search already, of course," predicted Emma.

"You know each other so well. You two should date," I joked.

I heard the door open. I looked over my shoulder to see Rainne coming in. She sat down next to me, fidgeting with the purple mask in her hands.

"Hey, Talia. I heard you talking about going to get some new recruits. I think I'd like to go this time," she told me.

I tried not to let my jaw drop. "Finally! I've been waiting for you to step out of the shadows and go on an adventure. We'll go together, be a team! Just like old times."

She smirked. We had been the ones to come up with the original idea for the Project. The entire operation was a combined effort between us. Mostly, Rainne worked behind the scenes to make things go smoothly. I was the one who ventured out to give speeches and things.

I turned back to the assembled group. "Any other volunteers to go make new friends?" A few hands rose. "Okay, we'll meet up here tomorrow. If you change your mind and want to come, you're welcome to show up spontaneously. Now, we'd best be getting our arses back on track or else we'll get behind on whatever it is everyone's doing."

* * *

Rainne and I trotted down the hallway to the room she was working in. She'd told me that she had a new poster design that would "bash my brains out of my skull with its awesomeness." We burst through the door to find someone else in the room. But that was no surprise, considering how much he wandered around.

"You better have not changed anything," warned Rainne.

"Don't worry, I haven't damaged your design," the man responded.

"If you screw it up, I swear to a deity I don't believe in I will rip your lovely eyes out of their sockets."

"I don't think you will. Terribly injuring the man you're trying to help? The 'Beat Up Sherlock Project?'"

She sighed. Things had changed now that we not only believed in Sherlock Holmes, but had to put up with him. At least we were reminded on a daily basis how much he wasn't a fraud.

"Nice poster, though. I can't wait to see it all over the city without anyone knowing how it got there," Sherlock said.

Rainne was quick to agree. "I know, right?"

"We're going on a recruit hunt tomorrow. Try not to break anything while we're gone," I cut in.

Sherlock smirked at us. "I can't make any promises."

* * *

The next morning, Rainne and I hit the town. Each of us had a yellow ribbon in our pocket, which we hoped would let anyone wanting to join know who we were.

"Where to first?" I asked my friend..

"Hmm. How about we start small…a grocery store. Lots of people, but not so many that will want to join, most likely."

"Right. Let's go, then."

We made our way to Tesco, which I already knew would be incredibly boring. It was busy, even at nine in the morning.

"How are we meant to find recruits here? It's too busy to target anyone in particular," I pointed out.

"Take the ribbon out, stupid. People might spot it and know what it means."

I turned around and began to sigh. Then, I stopped. Because I had seen someone there, buying milk, that nobody else had ever gotten a good chance at recruiting. I turned back to Rainne, who seemed to be scanning the crowd on my other side for anyone worth talking to about our cause. I grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to face the same direction as me.

"Wha—holy shit. It's him."

I grinned ear to ear and nodded.

"We'd best go get him, yeah?" I said excitedly.

"Oh, most definitely."

We took off in the direction of the short man holding a milk carton. We halted a few feet behind him, before he had even seen us. Rainne and I exchanged a glance, before I tapped his shoulder and cleared my throat. The man turned around and looked at us curiously.

"Um, hello," I began. "How are you on this fine day, Doctor Watson?"


	3. Meeting the Sherlockians

**-John-**

"Um, hello. How are you on this fine day, Doctor Watson?"

I was puzzled. I'd never met the two girls standing in front of me. Why would two strangers approach me strike up a conversation in a store? I hoped they hadn't seen me in the papers, like some others. There were people who had come to me on the street just to say that Sherlock was a fake, and that I should accept it, and that I was an idiot for believing.

"Look, I don't want to deal with this right now. I know you don't believe me, and that you've read the papers and think it's all true. But I don't want to deal with this right now, so leave me alone," I snapped.

The girls looked hurt. The taller one reached into her pocket and pulled something out. She raised it up to my eye level and opened her fist. A lemon yellow ribbon tumbled out between her fingers.

"We believe, Doctor Watson. We're here because we know you do too," she whispered.

I took a minute to take the two of them in. They couldn't have been more than sixteen years old. The shorter one had mousey brown hair and wire-framed glasses. She dressed in red and black, wearing high platform shoes that still didn't make her any taller than her friend. The girl holding the ribbon had blood-red hair, and was clad in tight jeans, leather boots, and a blazer over a gray t-shirt.

"Who are you?" I asked them.

"I'm Rainne," replied the shorter one. "That's Talia. We want to talk with you about the Believe in Sherlock Project."

"You're Sherlockians? But you're just kids! Shouldn't you be in school?" I responded, almost laughing at the thought.

That seemed to offend them.

Talia spoke up again. "We've already finished the curriculum all the way up to freshman University courses. We may be kids, but children aren't as simple as you seem to believe, Doctor Watson. We are the leaders of the Believe in Sherlock Project, and if you think that our being in charge makes the operation any weaker, you're mistaken."

I was taken aback. The Project reached thousands of people with every rally, and almost everyone knew about it, whether it was from papers or posters or seeing it themselves. How could all this be run by two teenagers?

"If you don't want to help, that's fine with us. We have plenty of other places to look," Rainne said coolly.

They began to walk away, Talia shoving the ribbon back into her pocket.

"Hang on," I called. I trotted up behind them. "I want to join."

The two girls exchanged a glance and smiled at each other.

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Talia. "Follow us."

I didn't question them once as they led me through the streets of London, my full cart of groceries forgotten in the shop. I never thought twice about cutting through back alleys and taking all but unused roads to get to wherever we were going. I had decided to trust these two girls, strange as they may be, because I knew they were doing good for the world, and they knew I wanted to help. We eventually halted before a run-down hotel in need of some maintenance.

"It's not what you're expecting. Whatever you're expecting, it's definitely not it," Rainne told me.

I shrugged. "I don't know what to expect. You were hardly what I had in mind as the leaders of the Project."

"Oh!" exclaimed Talia. "Hang on, I have to call someone and make sure nothing is going to hit us on the way in." She pulled out a touchscreen phone and made a call.

"Hey, Quentin. It's me."

The person on the other end said something that made Talia roll her eyes.

"Me as in Talia, you moron. Who all is with you?" she asked

"…"

"Alright, put it on speaker. I come bearing grand news."

"…"

"What's the news, you ask?" she said, smiling at me. "Rainne and I are outside with John Watson."

A commotion from the other end was audible through the phone, and I heard something coming from one of the windows on the second floor of the hotel. In a few seconds, some faces appeared on the other side of the glass and looked down at me. There were people who must have been young as thirteen, and some who could have been forty-two. All gasped and waved frantically when they saw me. I laughed and waved back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Talia and Rainne waving the group back inside.

"Guys!" said Talia. "Go clean up whatever mess you've made, and for the love of God somebody tell Tall Dark and Douchey."

The blinds fell back into place as people retreated from the window.

"Who earned himself the nickname 'Tall Dark and Douchey'?" I asked jokingly.

Rainne laughed. "That's literally the first time any of us has said that ever," she told me. "I think Talia just wanted to use it somewhere."

Talia smirked and gave us a thumbs-up. "No, no, Percival, get—"

"…!"

"Tell him that I—"

"[_CRASH]"_

"Shit! What happened?!"

"….!"

"Okay, just put him on! Give him the shitting phone! And run while you can!"

"….."

"Yeah, so we're here with Doctor Watson and—"

"…"

"No, I need you to—"

"…"

"Yeah, now shut the hell up and give Quentin his phone."

"…."

"Okay, we're good to come in, yeah?"

"…."

"Okay, bye." She hung up. "Sorry," she said to me. "That took longer than it should have. Let's go in."

"Who caused all the chaos on the other end?" I asked.

She just snickered and shook her head. We strolled into the building…only it couldn't be the same building that it was on the outside. It had graffiti covering the walls, and glass and metal tables sat on navy carpet or pale wood flooring. I could see a kitchen, where it seemed someone had failed to put away a jar of jam. There was a staircase leading to the next level, and by the looks of it, this had been graffitied as well.

There were people swarming what would have been the lobby of the hotel. Many were holding laptops or tablets. Others had goggles pushed up onto their foreheads. Some were wearing their masks around their necks. A few had notebooks and pencils behind their ears. There were some splattered in paint and holding cans of spray paint or still-wet brushes. And every single one was staring at me.

"Welcome home, Doctor Watson!" shouted someone in the crowd.

"Watson's Warriors!" yelled another.

Soon the room was full of voices and cheers. I stood there, somewhat awkwardly, until Rainne managed to rescue me. She waved her arms around until the room went quiet.

"You guys can all meet John later, so you don't have to scream at him now. You're all flipping your shit for this, even though you're probably gonna be working with him. Just calm down, take a deep breath, it's all gonna be okay. Now where the hell is Quentin?"

"Hey!" called a man coming down the stairs.

"Ahoy, good sir!" responded Rainne.

The man jogged up to me and the two girls. He couldn't have been more than nineteen. He wore a green V-necked shirt, and had goggles on his forehead, pushing up his dark hair. He extended his hand to me, and introduced himself as "Quentin Graham, self-proclaimed technological genius and generally badass person."

I smiled and shook the offered hand. "John Watson," I said. "Professionally certified medical doctor and generally astounded person."

"Astounded?" Quentin grinned. "Why?"

"Well, when you hear about movement for your best friend's name in the paper, you expect the people running it to be a bit…"

"Taller? Louder? More mysterious?" suggested Quentin.

"…I'm not sure. A bit less like what they actually are."

"Excuse you!" snapped Talia jokingly.

"Right, sorry," I said.

Talia changed the subject. "Hey, let's give you a tour."

I smiled. "Lead the way."

* * *

"This is the newest design. Rainne made it; I'm putting it on sites that will help spread it around the internet. Later, we'll send some people out to put it up around the city," said the blond girl, Emma, gesturing to the poster design on the computer.

"If you work with the tech people, you can design some posters. Or, you know…develop viruses that tear apart pro-Rich Brook websites from the inside out. We do that here as well," said Quentin.

"Um…I don't think I'd be too good at that. I can't type very fast, and I've never been good with machines. They always seem to disagree with me," I admitted.

"Right, well, if you change your mind, or just get bored and wanna see what's up over here…you're welcome to come anytime," said Emma kindly. "Oh, and Talia, if you see James, tell him I need to talk to him, alright?"

"Will do," responded Talia. "Catch you later."

"No, no….don't…do that," I told her, shaking my head.

She looked confused, but nodded.

"On that note, let's go meet the more artsy-fartsy people," chirped Rainne, smirking.

Quentin, Talia, and Rainne all filed out of the room and made their way up a flight of stairs.

"The tech stuff is on the first floor," explained Quentin. "Paint-splashers are kept confined to the second, mostly. The third floor is for other things; planning, practicing, writing. On the top floor is where the long-term inhabitants live."

"On the third floor, you said practicing. Practicing what?" I inquired.

Quentin glanced at Talia, who shrugged. "…Everything. Singing, I suppose, sometimes. Sports, mostly. But that includes fencing, dancing, archery…" He trails off.

I raised my eyebrows. "Archery? Why would you need archery?"

"It's quite a popular sport here, actually. One person asked to bring some archery stuff in, and we allowed it, and then people just sort of rolled with it. It's gotten to be kind of a big thing."

"Hm," I respond, still a bit surprised by the fact that there's probably someone firing a bow and arrow over my head right now.

"And, here we are. Very crafty," piped up Talia, flinging open a door. Inside, there were about thirty people drawing, painting, or sculpting. Some were just making pictures of whatever they see fit. Some seemed to be designing posters by hand. Others looked like they were painting masks.

"The masks. You make them yourselves?" I asked.

"Of course," replied Talia, as though that should have been obvious.

We milled about there for a while, before I let them know that I was really quite rubbish at art. Talia's reaction to this was, "I knew you were going to say that! Did anyone else know he was going to say that?" Hence, we moved on to the next floor up.

"So, here, you plan everything out?"

"Yes, sir. We plan rallies, recruitment outings, which criminals to sabotage, and a shitload of other events here," explained Talia.

"You sabotage criminals…right. Should have seen that one coming."

"Yeah, we just sort of…" began Rainne. Then she finished, more quietly, "We feel the need to help continue Sherlock's work after he couldn't do it anymore."

"That's actually fantastic," I told them, smiling sadly. "You're basically being him now that he can't be. Thank you. Thank you for everything that you've built here. Because…" I took a deep breath, fighting back all the overwhelming emotions. "…This is wonderful," I finished.

Quentin smiled knowingly, and I could tell he understood. When I looked at each of their faces, I could see that they all knew what this was like. I wondered briefly who they had lost. Rainne placed a hand on my arm, then took it off. It was plain that she wasn't much for touching. Talia, however, pulled me into a hug. Most of the time, this would have bothered me a bit. But now, it wasn't so bad. From these people, who had done so much for me and for Sherlock…I didn't mind it at all.

* * *

**Author's note: Surprise! The Project is made up of surpisingly young people, shock upon shock! This chapter was mostly to get a more in-depth look at the Project. I hope you liked it. Next chapter, real action begins. Spoiler alert: Moriarty's going to get so pissed when he finds out...**


	4. Of Long-lost Friends and Enemies

**Author's note: This chapter is where the real action starts. We've got Moriarty entering the story, and (gasps from the audience as dramatic music plays) the reunion! I know that the reunion may seem a bit pink and fluffy and sickly sweet at first, but pull through because I did have a plan there. Anyway, I'm going to shut up now.**

* * *

**-Seb-**

"The 'Believe in Sherlock Project', you say?"

I inhaled deeply. "Yes. I'm surprised you haven't heard about it. I assume you're going to want to do something?"

Jim grinned mischievously. "Of course. Can't have people knowing the _truth, _now can we? It would be absolute chaos! Not that I have anything _against_ absolute chaos."

"So what's the brilliant plan?" I asked him.

"Hmm…personally, I have been itching for a good explosion. Tell my people to keep a watch for anything that may be one of their rallies. We're going to let them off with a warning."

And then James Moriarty told me what we were going to do. When he was done, all I did was nod. Then, I went into the other room and I began to clean my gun.

* * *

**-Talia-**

Everyone who had wanted to help organizing the next rally was piled into the room. James, Rainne, Doctor Watson, and my second-in-command Percival all stood close to me.

"Right," I began. "We've decided that we're going to go big this time. John has pulled some strings, and we're going to be able to have our next rally _on Baker Street._" Some murmurs of excitement rippled about the assembled group. "So, this is going to be a real busy rally. But if we play our cards right, it could get us masses of more people believing. Who here just wants to organize, but doesn't want to necessarily be there for the action?" A few hands rose. "Fabulous." I continued, "All of us are going to really have to go all out for this. Get ready. We're on in a week."

We went our separate ways, then. I stopped James on my way out and told him that Emma wanted to see him. He said he was headed her way anyways. John, Rainne, Percival and I all headed to the room where we knew we would find Quentin.

When we got there, Quentin was typing manically, squinting at a computer monitor.

"What's up, Q?" asked Percival cheerfully, all sticking-up orange hair and elfish features.

Quentin smirked and made a noise that could almost be considered a giggle. "Somebody is trying to counter our virus on this site. Trying to out-hack _me._ Ha! Hysterical."

"Right, well, we're just gonna use this here computer to type up a list of shit we plan to do and/or say at the rally," I told him.

"Alright. Don't be too distracting," he muttered.

We gathered around the monitor, and I opened up a new document. We discussed some ideas, Quentin occasionally commenting. We were just debating which flyers to use when I heard the door open behind us.

"Hello, I just—shit," said a deep, annoyingly attractive, painfully recognizable, terribly timed voice.

"Shit," I agreed.

"Oh, shit," added Rainne, Quentin and Percival helpfully.

And then we stood up and we turned around and we didn't give a damn about the flyers anymore and Quentin could suddenly care less about the counter-hacking because John Watson was staring up at Sherlock Holmes with a look on his face that could make a raging tiger tremble.

"You…utter bastard!" exploded John. "You complete arse! You were dead! I had to watch you _become_ dead, and now you're just standing there! I mourned you for months, you…I didn't have…_anyone. _You left me alone for a _fucking year_ with nothing but regrets!" He paused for breath, glaring at Sherlock as nobody had ever glared before or since.

"John, please, you have to understand, I—"

"No! You don't get to tell me to understand, you don't get to tell me the whole story and expect me to be impressed and tell you it's amazing because _you're a terrible person._ I swear, unless you give me a _really_ good reason to reconsider, I am never going to speak to you again, just like I never thought I'd be able to." John's voice cracked near the end of his rant. I could tell why. I wanted so badly to interfere, to tell them to please see reason, to comfort John and teach Sherlock how to fix what Moriarty had so badly broken. But for some reason, I couldn't move or say a word.

Sherlock blinked a few times, then said quietly, "You want me to give you a good reason to reconsider never speaking to me again?"

John just glared.

"We both know I'm rubbish with emotions. But we'd be lying if we said I didn't have any. So, here's why you really, _really_ ought to think about changing your mind."

Then, amazingly, shockingly, appallingly, my friends and I witnessed Sherlock Holmes pull John Watson into a hug. I waited for John to push away, but it didn't happen. We could see Sherlock's face from where we stood, and he…was…crying? No, not crying. There weren't any tears coming from his eyes, but they were wet and he looked close, very close, to a genuine sob.

Then, he started talking to John. "I'm so sorry. I had to. Don't you know I had to? It was Moriarty, he threatened everyone…he said he'd kill you if I didn't jump. Don't you see, John? Don't you understand? I wanted to tell you so badly. I wanted to come home and give you your miracle. But I couldn't. It wouldn't have been safe for you. I'm so sorry."

John squirmed, and for a split second I was worried he was going to pull away and storm out anyway. But he was only getting far enough away to see Sherlock's face. John smiled a bit, even though I could tell he was still upset. "I guess," he said, "I'll have to learn to adjust to this kind of thing. I can only expect so much normality, being best friends with Sherlock Holmes and all." Relief flooded through me. The band was getting back together! I saw Sherlock crack half a smile at John's words, before the doctor grabbed his arm and twisted him into a headlock.

"However," said John, glaring (still) at the other man. "If you pull this kind of shit again, I will kill you myself."

I believed him.


	5. Questions and Answers

**-John-**

I was entirely overwhelmed. There was an entire organization dedicating to restoring the memory of my dead friend, who actually wasn't dead, and happened to be a part of it. Oh, and not to forget, the entire operation was run by teenagers.

I had never been angrier at anyone than I had been at Sherlock when I saw him for the first time since…he _didn't_ die. I was really tempted to punch him. I almost did. But something in the way he was looking at me stopped me. He looked…sad. Terribly sad. Then, Sherlock Holmes pulled a move that was something entirely unlike the Sherlock Holmes that had stepped off of that roof when he hugged me. He sounded so upset when he explained Moriarty's threat. That's when I realized that maybe, just maybe, this year hadn't been so easy on him either. I tried to see it like him. If my first and foremost friend had been threatened, and the only way to save him was to give my life, what would I have done? Then I realized that it had already happened for me. That night at the pool, when Moriarty was a snap of his fingers away from killing Sherlock, I had tackled him. I _had_ offered to give my life. And so I had to forgive Sherlock.

Despite the amount of pure chaos that surrounded my life, I still managed to live it, juggling all the aspects of being one of the key members of the Project, working at the hospital to pay the bills, and going to the pub with Greg—all while keeping my involvement with the Project, and with a very alive Sherlock, a complete secret. It wasn't easy. I had to resist the urge to spill the beans to Lestrade. It was very tempting to let it all out. _Yeah, so remember the Believe in Sherlock Project? I joined and now I'm one of their members! Oh, by the way, Sherlock never died! You want another pint? It's on me!_

This, as you can imagine, would not go over well. So, I had to keep the secret. And help plan the next rally. And put up posters. And keep up my work at the hospital. I had a busy schedule.

One drizzly Friday morning, after a whopping four hours of sleep, I staggered into the hotel and was almost immediately assaulted by a frantic Talia.

"The rally is tomorrow and we still have to plan who's going to be there, what posters we're using, and basically everything else!" she blurted.

"What have you been doing for the past week?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes in a painfully "angsty teen" fashion. "Procrastinating!"

Just then, Percival appeared next to her. He didn't actually ever seem to walk anywhere, at least nobody saw him walking. He just…_appeared_ where he wanted to be.

Percival said, in his usual cheerful tone, "We've chosen the posters! We're using the Moriarty ones. You know, the ones that are all 'Don't believe the lies, grrrr, Moriarty's an asshole.'"

"I only remember that first one being on the poster." Talia smirked. "But that last part is also true. Good choice." She turned back to me, pushing her red hair away from her eyes. She tilted her head a bit. "You have some questions for me."

I replied, "That was a very Sherlock-y thing to say. But yes, I do."

Talia nodded. She turned back to Percival. "I have to go talk to John about stuff, apparently. You're in charge because I don't trust James not blast Bowling For Soup over the intercom. Run along." She paused and gestured for me to follow her. "Okay, come on. We'll go to the third floor. I've got a room to myself up there because I'm awesome like that."

We were on the second floor when we were stopped by Emma.

"Talia!" she snapped. "You knew! You knew all along!"

The shorter girl took a few steps back and put her hands in her pockets. "I know a lot of things, my friend. Which are you referring to?"

"You let me talk to James! You knew what would happen!" shrieked Emma.

"I—what? Did you beat him up or something? What's the problem?"

"You knew I liked him! I _asked him out_, dammit!

Talia's eyes widened. "Oh…I actually had no idea. I'm pathetically unaware of romantic attraction in others, you see—"

"You know what happened?"

"Well, I do have a theory—"

"He's gay!"

"I know he's gay, don't blame me!" Talia yelped.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Emma demanded.

"Well, it's never came up!" Talia glanced at me. "I—John and I have to go…do stuff…and things…see you later, Emma."

She dashed down the hall before the blond girl could respond. I followed behind her.

We made it to the intended room on the third floor without any more distractions.

"That was rather dramatic," I said once we had gone inside.

Talia nodded as she trotted over to a desk against the wall of the small room and leaned against it.

I took a moment to look around. There were posters on the walls for bands that everyone knows and for bands I'd never even heard of. There were a couple posters for the Project itself. Three guitars were on stands against one wall, with another instrument case. I couldn't tell what was inside the case, but there were buttons and pins clinging to it everywhere. A bow and quiver of arrows leaned against a wall, and above them hung a beat-up target.

I smiled. "You're an archery person?"

Talia shrugged. "It was peer pressure originally, but it's actually kind of fun. What did you want to ask me?"

"There are a few things," I stated. "First, how do you afford all this stuff? It can't be cheap."

She sighed. "We have a sponsor. A few sponsors, but one main sponsor."

I nodded, then asked, "Is it Mycroft?"

Talia smirked. "Yeah, it's Mycroft. We like mocking him. He has funny reactions but he keeps paying for things we need and that's even funnier."

I laughed and continued with my questions. "Why didn't you tell me Sherlock was alive?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think he was planning to tell you himself in some horrifically miscalculated way? I wasn't going to just tell you if he was already planning to. In fact, I talked to him after you found out. He was upset that he didn't get to tell you in his own way."

I shrugged. "I'm still angry at him."

"You should probably be angrier."

"Fair enough. Another question, now. My first day, right after you showed me around, you and Rainne and Q gave me this look, like you…_understood_." Talia looked away from me, but I continued. "You looked like you'd lost someone too…who was it?"

"It doesn't matter—"

"Of course it matters."

She sighed and finally looked back to me. "Has it ever occurred to you that I'm fifteen and I run this project with nobody worrying about me? Same with Rainne. We don't have anyone to worry about us, John. That's who we lost. Everyone."

"How? I don't mean to be rude, just…how is it that a bunch of kids—genius kids, at that—end up here?" I asked.

"I never had a big family, my friend. It was my mum, my brother, and I. Rainne just had a mother. She—Rainne, I mean—and I had been friends for while. Met at this nice school we both went to. Private place with uniforms and all. Summer break, my mum and brother were carpooling with her parental unit. They were coming to pick us up and bring us home for summer. Some jackass on his phone smashed their car halfway there."

"I'm sorry," I told her.

She nodded. "That was four years ago. Rainne and I were thrown into the same orphanage. But families don't want to adopt surly eleven-year-olds. They want cute little children. So we were there for long enough to know we weren't going anywhere unless we went there ourselves.

"Then, suddenly, Sherlock Holmes—fraud. Now, we knew this guy was for real. We'd seen him in the papers before, and this one other kid had met him. The man solved his parents' murder, for Christ's sake! How could anyone believe he was a fake? So, Rainne and I hatched a plan, ran away, and here we are."

Wow. I actually hadn't thought about the origins of the Project. Now that I knew, I felt even more obligated to help. People who had nothing and no one had made this happen, and it had spread and grown and nobody even knew where it had come from.

Talia walked over to the door and held it open. "Coming, Watson?" she asked.

I nodded and followed her out.

I thought about what this Project really was. It was never just a call to action. It was never just about proving the truth and showing the world what was really happening. Sure, on the surface the point was to eradicate all the lies Moriarty had spread. And, of course, we needed that too. But once you scratched the surface, the Project was really about family. It was about having people who know and have faith the same things as you, having people to help you up if you fall. The Project was about having a purpose, having a cause, having a family.

Having something to believe in.


	6. You Should Expect Us

**-Talia-**

Today was the day. First rally with John Watson as part of the Project. First rally where people would know about us. Second rally to have a genuine effect, to really spread the word.

More people than ever were coming along to this one. I suppose the techies were finally coming out of their cocoons now that we had everyone's attention.

I'd reminded them all about wearing yellow. John had been terribly confused for about five seconds before I explained that it was to commemorate "The Blind Banker" case that he had put on his blog. He seemed unreasonably pleased that I had been reading his blog for that long.

We were all in our masks and on the way to Baker Street, by various routes. We'd sent out a few people to set up a stage in the wee hours of the morning, so we were ready to jump right into the rally.

Rainne, John, Emma and Percival were walking with me. Quentin had stayed behind to make sure everything went smoothly at the hotel while we were gone. I had a megaphone in a backpack slung over my shoulder, along with a bundle of flyers.

It wasn't that different from any other rally. But I knew something big was going to happen today. Not that I was worried. Or nervous. Pfft, nervous? Me?

_Whatever happens, _I thought to myself, _We'll be ready._

* * *

**-Seb- **

Today was the day. First time in a long time I'd had a job to do. First time in a long time that my boss had given me a target. Second time I'd finish Sherlock Holmes.

Nothing living, of course. Not quite yet. No blood, no death. Just a warning.

I had this feeling in my gut that I couldn't shake, though. Like this wasn't a normal mission for me. I wouldn't tell Jim about it. He would laugh and brush it off and say something about "darling, ordinary Sebby." But I couldn't ignore it either. I felt like this would spark something bigger than Jim had planned for.

I set up my rifle and pointed it through the window. I could see the bomb through the scope. Not a big one, not enough to hurt anyone. At least not seriously. Jim thought it was just powerful enough to teach the "Believe in Sherlock Project" a lesson.

I smiled to myself at the thought of their reaction. They'd probably panic. They'd probably run. They'd shout and wail.

Maybe that fluttering in my stomach meant something, but I kept telling myself, _Whatever happens, I'll be ready._

* * *

**-Talia-**

We were on Baker Street. The stage was right in front of 221B. We were probably breaking a law or two by putting it there, but we were anonymous and we could probably talk our way out of any lawsuits. I pulled the megaphone out of my bag and split the flyers between Percival and Rainne.

John suddenly said, "That's quite a big crowd."

I nodded. "We can handle it. Come on, then." I started walking faster towards the platform as heads turned my way. Then John and I both stopped at the same time. We looked at each other and initiated a telepathic conversation between two people who can easily tell what the other is thinking.

_Do you feel that?_

_Yes. Something's going on._

_Something bad, no doubt._

_We'll be fine?_

_…Right._

* * *

**-Seb-**

There they were. Not as imposing as I was expecting. Close enough to see what was happening. I squeezed the trigger on the rifle.

* * *

**-Talia-**

Explosions occured and there was a lot of noise and I was terribly disoriented and wasn't I here for a rally? I was, right, okay, just slow down and think. Now we didn't have a stage. Someone was after us, I reasoned.

_Moriarty?_ I asked myself. Sherlock had said he may still be alive.

I quickly thought about what Moriarty would want now. He'd want us to stop. He'd want a big reaction. He'd want to end us.

I lifted the megaphone to my mouth and shouted, "Come on, Jim. Don't be such a party pooper."

I looked over at John. I could tell he was terrified. I smiled at him.

"It's fine," I whispered. "We can handle this."

I walked to the wreck that was at one point the stage. The crowd parted as I went. I knew that the other members of the Project were behind me. I felt my confidence skyrocket. What did Moriarty have, anyway? Guns, bombs, snipers. Fear. I had friends, family really. A legion of people who wanted the same thing as me.

"I doubt you have the stones to show up here yourself, but I do know that your sniper buddy is around. So, I want you to send a message to your master. Tell him that the Believe in Sherlock Project has this to say: Do you really want to play this game, Jim? Again? Because it's not about distractions and boredom anymore, you pathetic piece of shit! This isn't a game you can cheat on, not again. I don't think you understand what you've just started. You've just made yourself some demons, Moriarty. We are the Believe in Sherlock Project!" I gestured to the crowd of masked friends gathered behind me. They shouted in their agreement. I took a deep breath and lowered my voice. "We are the Believe in Sherlock Project," I repeated. "You should expect us."


	7. War Declarations and Virgin Margaritas

**Author's Note: **Sorry for not updating in forever. This chapter is a bit short. It started out serious, I swear, but then sort of deteriorated into weirdly good fruit punch and virgin margaritas. Anyway, thanks for the reviews! They're kind of what motivate me to keep writing the story at all. Also, the school year is over, so you can expect quicker updates, most likely! In this chapter James throws a party without Talia's permission. *muffled Bowling For Soup playing in the distance*

* * *

**-John-**

I watched Talia give her big, heroic speech, and I cheered at all the right times, and I felt all the support from the rest of the Project and from the crowd we'd gathered, and I was terrified because somehow Moriarty was still around.

I was suddenly very aware of where I stood in the grand scope of things. I'd thought it was just a campaign for truth. Now it was a battle. Jim Moriarty was alive. We were back to the beginning, back to the games and the danger. Yet somehow, this time, I knew there would be a different winner.

"You should expect us," Talia said, and I knew exactly what she meant, and I cheered and the rest of the Project joined in, and I knew that things were going to be fine.

We made our way back to the hotel, then, without a rally, knowing that what had just occurred was stronger than any flyers we could have given out or speeches we may have performed.

"John, you okay? You looked kind of shaken up back there," said Percival while we were walking down an alley near the hotel.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied. Then I smiled, and addressed Talia. "You gave a nice speech back there. I'm your friend and I was kind of scared of you."

Talia gave me her signature smirk and responded, "Just as I planned."

I could tell something was off, though. She looked anxious, and she was clenching and unclenching her fists. This wasn't "Talia, leader of the Believe in Sherlock Project", this was "Talia, fifteen-year-old girl who was just confronted by an evil genius."

"John, things are going to change now. I mean, I just declared war on Moriarty. Meaning that we need to be really, really careful. I don't want Sherlock's Death; Take Two or anything. I'm worried that we aren't going to be the way we are much longer."

"Oh, hell no," I heard Rainne say from behind me. She grabbed Talia's shoulders and spun her around. "Listen here, you little shit. Don't you go doubting us. We're family, and that means we're gonna stick together and make it through this. What's Moriarty's greatest weapon? It's fear. He wants us to be afraid. He wants us to run and hide and be careful and quiet. And you know me; I've never been good at taking orders. So, instead of tucking our tails between our legs, we're gonna bare our fucking teeth and bite Moriarty's ugly arms off. Metaphorically, though, because he probably tastes bad. You feel me?"

I thought about that, and could see the same gears turning in the other girl's mind. After a few moments, Talia smiled and shrugged Rainne's hands away from her. "I'm sure I speak for both myself and the rest of the Project when I say this: Hell fucking yes, I feel you, Rainne. Let's go intricately plan out our ass-kicking strategies."

I noted "intricately plan out our ass-kicking strategies" as another one of the things Talia had said that sounded like it belonged in an action movie.

A few moments later, we burst through the doors of the hotel and were assaulted by the sound of horrifically loud music.

"What the—" I started.

"Who let James near the intercom system again?" shouted Percival.

"James, I appreciate your music taste, but could you not?" added Talia.

The music shut off. James came running down the stairs.

"Party on the third floor!" he said. "Mostly because of your awesome speech and the publicity this is going to get us, but also a little bit because we found out that if you put Sherlock and Quentin in a kitchen together with the ingredients for virgin margaritas you get weirdly good fruit punch and a couple awful virgin margaritas."

"What do you people do while I'm gone?" asked Talia jokingly.

"I don't know what happened, but it was funny. And loud. And now there's a party. Don't question it."

Talia nodded, a smirk playing at her lips.

"Wait, hang on, can we get back to Sherlock making virgin margaritas? Because I kind of want to talk about Sherlock trying to make a virgin margarita," I said.

Maybe it was what Rainne had said earlier, or maybe I'd just needed to calm down a bit, but I was suddenly entirely apathetic to Moriarty and his evil plans. After all, I had better things to do than worry.


	8. Strategies, Slapping, and Spray Bottles

**Author's note: **This one started out serious, too. I did get my original battle-strategy chapter across, but mostly it's all my OCs making fun of Sherlock. Please keep reviewing. Less than three, readers. Less than three.

* * *

**-Talia-**

I may have miscalculated, a bit. Because suddenly I was at war with the man who had torn Sherlock and John's lives apart, and I didn't have a clue what to do next. Maybe I should have prepared for this eventuality, but I had always thought that even if Moriarty was still alive, he wouldn't dare touch us.

Ah, well. We could fix this. We could take on Moriarty, beat him, clear Sherlock's name, get the world's only consulting detective back in business with his army doctor, acquire the phone number of the cute guy in the crowd at the last rally, somehow replicate the circumstances in which the weirdly good fruit punch from the party had occurred, then throw a party with Scotland Yard to celebrate our success. Six impossible things before breakfast, as Lewis Carrol said.

Having horrifically miscalculated and declared war upon Moriarty, I was now sitting in the conference room talking through our "ass-kicking strategies", as I had eloquently named them. The entirety of the Project was piled in, including the man himself.

"We're taking the offensive, this time," stated Sherlock.

"Obviously, Sherly. We already have," I responded.

"Call me Sherly again and I will personally be investigating your murder."

"Shut up, we have bigger problems."

"It's true. We need to come up with a plan. We don't even know where Moriarty is, much less how to fight him," said Emma.

"Exactly. First step is to find him. Then, I vote we give him a taste of his own medicine. Boom," James offered, gesturing in a sort of explosion motion on the last word.

A few nods spread about the room. "Alright," I began. "I have an idea. Normally, we just put up the stage them come back later. So, what if we put him on guard all over the city? We could put up decoy stages all over, with only a few people based there. And nobody comes in later, nobody for them to scare off or make an example of. So, Moriarty's people keep watching and waiting, and that would give us enough time to find them wherever they're holed up near the stage. Then, when they eventually leave, we follow them to wherever their master is."

Some murmurs of agreement ensued, before being cut off by John. "Personally, I think Moriarty would be expecting it. And it would be very, very difficult to sneak up on those assassins."

"Maybe we wouldn't have to," said Quentin. "I've made some little darts with these trackers inside, because one day I was bored and in a gun type of mood."

"Sounds familiar," said John, with a sharp glance at Sherlock.

Q continued, "Anyways, if we used the first part of Talia's plan, only we just got close enough to fire a dart to stick in the assassin's bag or coat or whatever. We could run along, ditch the stage, never have to get too close to the snipers, track them to their base, and be home in time for lunch."

I nodded. "Seems legit. Anyone have anything else?"

Nobody spoke up, and a lot of people looked to be contemplating Q's plan.

"Sherlock? See any major flaws in the plan?" I asked.

"Three. But not anything that the snipers are likely to see. They're idiots, clearly. They actually thought I was dead."

John growled at Sherlock, "You shut the fuck up."

"Oh, please—" Sherlock scoffed, before I slapped him on the back of his head.

Rainne giggled. "Looks like this is the Beat Up Sherlock Project, after all."

"Guys," said Percival. "This is how we should discipline him from now on. No yelling. We'll just slap him."

Sherlock made an attempt. "No, stop—"

"Wait, guys, we should get a spray bottle. 'No, bad Sherlock,'" Quentin chimed in.

"Mycroft would fund us for, like, hundreds of spray bottles if that was the purpose behind them," said Rainne, laughing.

Sherlock turned to me. "Talia, could you just—"

"No, bad Sherlock," I interrupted.

John laughed, and the rest of the Project laughed, and even though Sherlock was glaring he smirked a bit, and I was just grateful that even though I'd messed up and gotten us into war, we could still have these moments when we did nothing but giggle like morons.

I couldn't help but worry, however, that this was just the calm before the storm.


End file.
